


I Will Wait For You

by hephaestiions



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Auror Harry Potter, Light Angst, M/M, Mentions Of Infidelity, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Rimming, Switching, but there is no infidelity, it's a couple lines of suspicion tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2019-12-06
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:40:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21696331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hephaestiions/pseuds/hephaestiions
Summary: ‘I love you,’ Harry whispers, his hand gently stroking Draco’s shaft in long strokes. He adds a little twist to the end that makes Draco clench around his dick and Harry doesn’t know how much longer he can stave off his own orgasm. ‘I love you so much.’Draco’s eyes fly open and he looks at Harry with a sort of desperate longing as he says, ‘I know. I know. I’m so close, Harry, please.’Written for the Azka-Damn prompt: 'Harry or Draco surprises the other with a weekend retreat for their anniversary and plans on doing something a little bit different. Choose to explore either 1) emotional intimacy -OR- 2) physical intimacy - as the planner of the weekend opens up about their innermost hidden desires.'
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 19
Kudos: 178
Collections: Drarropoly 2.0 - A Drarry Game/Fest





	I Will Wait For You

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the wonderful GinevraHolmes on Discord who beta'd this fic for me. This is my first Drarryopoly fic and it was so much fun to write! It's also my first time writing such a lengthy scene of porn so be gentle with me. Constructive criticism is appreciated!

Harry returns home late on Saturday evening, his Auror uniform sticking to his body like a second skin that is both uncomfortable and undesirable, to find Draco fast asleep on the couch in front of the fireplace, a book on his chest.

With a pang of guilt, Harry remembers his promise to come back home early today and Draco’s answering snort of disbelief followed by a rather acerbic, ‘I’ll believe it when I see it, Potter.’

He had been held up by a flurry of irrelevant interdepartmental memos that had flown in just when he had finally decided to head home and being the Head Auror, it simply wasn’t done to sign off on documents he hadn’t gone through himself. He doesn’t have a lot of active fieldwork duty anymore and so he makes up for the feeling of churning inadequacy in his gut every time other Aurors come in with flushed faces and bound criminals by diligently working through every sheet of paperwork that hits his desk.

It frustrates Draco to no end. 

Sometimes when he is inordinately late, Draco is furious, his rage dripping from the angles of his posture– the fierce jut of his hip, the cross of his arms, the tremble of his lips– which makes apprehension set Harry’s synapses into overdrive. Sometimes he is understanding, taking off Harry’s robes with a sigh and a gentle kiss to his forehead before bringing dinner to the couch. Those times Harry feels like a right arse for the lines of worry that are becoming more prominent on Draco’s forehead and the guilt he feels threatens to corrode his principles away.

But by far the worst times are when Draco is completely resigned when Harry steps in at odd hours of the night, acting like nothing out of the ordinary has happened, pretending that the warming charm he keeps casting on the food is just a routine act, not bringing up the fact that Harry forgot to send a Patronus again. He looks at Harry and in those grey eyes lies a distance that Harry aches to fill but sometimes finds himself falling short.

It isn’t like Draco sits around at home, doing nothing. He’s a Potions consultant for St. Mungo’s and the job exhausts him, drives him to insanity and demands every bit of his energy but at least he can keep regular hours. Maybe part of that is attributed to the fact that he can do a lot of his work from home but what it boils down to in the end is that Draco is always waiting and Harry is always late. 

So when Harry finds Draco on the couch by the fireplace, the book’s pages crumpling against his chest, he takes a minute to just take in the sight of him– peaceful and calm in his sleep, a rare sight these days.

His hair, which he wears in a topknot at home, has loose strands that fly intermittently into Draco’s face with every huff of his breath, casting shadows on his pale skin. His lips are ever so slightly parted and Harry smiles at how innocent Draco can look, how open and vulnerable. He doesn’t get enough opportunities to simply sit back and appreciate that, given that Draco is usually up earlier than him and they fall asleep together. 

Now, in the dead silence of the night, nothing stops Harry from drinking his fill.

The thirties suit Draco, who has now grown into the sharp angles and planes of his figure, looking lean and distinguished instead of a combination of dangerous edges. He looks chiselled, like someone spent the last thirty years or so carving a masterpiece that they are finally close to finishing. 

When Draco stirs and curls in on himself slightly with a shiver, Harry heaves a sigh and stoops down to pick him up. Draco is definitely heavier now than he was at eighteen, or even twenty five but years of Auror training have increased Harry’s strength enough to be able to lift Draco with ease.

Draco shifts slightly and even in sleep moves closer to Harry, pushing his head up against his chest and curling into the circle of his arms like a cat. Harry knows as he looks down at the mess of blonde hair and soft skin that his lips are tilting up in that fond smile that Draco calls his stupid, Gryffindor expression.

‘Let’s get you to bed,’ Harry murmurs softly.

When he reaches the bedroom upstairs and sets Draco down, trying his best to be gentle, the grey eyes open for a brief moment. They’re fogged up and hazy from sleep but even in his barely conscious state, Draco smiles at the sight of Harry.

‘You’re back,’ he says, sounding oddly pleased.

‘I am,’ Harry says, amused by the almost childlike quality Draco’s voice has acquired.

‘You’re late,’ Draco yawns. ‘I knew you would be, so I kept dinner under a stasis charm in the kitchen.’ 

Harry winces. ‘I’m not really that hungry, Draco.’ 

‘I don’t care,’ Draco sighs, closing his eyes and turning on his side. ‘Bought treacle tart on my way home for you from that stupid bakery you like so much. You better eat if you don’t want me to stop buying you food at all.’

Harry stares at the blonde head atop the pale blue pillows. Fucking Draco, making him fall in love time and time again, even after six years. He bends down and presses a soft, chaste kiss to the exposed nape of Draco’s neck. 

‘I love you,’ he murmurs against the soft skin, the feelings rushing through him almost overwhelming.

‘Mmfph,’ Draco responds unintelligibly. ‘You too.’ 

Harry goes down and finishes the treacle tart in the kitchen.

–

‘We need to talk,’ Draco says when Harry walks into the kitchen the next morning, clad in nothing but boxers, blinking blearily through his spectacles and yawning.

He stops short at those words and through the fog in his sleep-heavy brain, the panic is the first thing that permeates.

‘What?’ He asks, barely noticing the mild tremor that begins in his fingers. 

‘Sit down,’ Draco says. 

Harry practically falls into a chair. 

Draco sighs and turns back to the coffee he had been making when Harry had walked in. 

‘You know it’s getting out of hand, right?’ Draco asks, his voice tight. ‘The late nights?’ 

Harry feels the guilt that hadn’t quite woken up yet make a furious comeback in every fibre of his being. 

‘Yes,’ he responds. His voice isn’t steady, it breaks down the middle. 

‘I’m going to ask once,’ Draco says, turning back towards him, eyes blazing, ‘and I expect an honest answer from you. You know that I know when you’re lying.’ 

Harry nods jerkily. 

‘Are you seeing someone else?’ 

Harry’s jaw drops. 

‘What?’  
There’s a crazed vulnerability in Draco’s eyes, as though he’s both determined to know and terrified of the answer he might receive; a stubbornness in his jaw that contrasts sharply with the silent, unspoken plea in the trembling of his lips. 

‘Harry, please, I have to know. I won’t stoop so low as to spy on you or ask your coworkers or even your friends but Harry–’ he hesitates. ‘I have to know.’ 

Harry gets up as quickly as his shaking legs allow and Draco almost drops the cup he’s holding at the sudden movement. He walks over to Draco slowly, giving him the space and the time to back away if he wants to but Draco doesn’t. Instead he stands there, the coffee cup shaking in his unsteady hands, his eyes widening with every step Harry takes towards him. 

‘Hey,’ Harry says, when their chests are almost touching, pushing all the earnestness he feels into his words, hoping his eyes show Draco the love he feels, the way his heart is breaking open at the look on Draco’s face. ‘You’re the only one. You’ve always been the only one.’ 

‘You’re saying there’s no one else?’ The hope in Draco’s small voice is heart-wrenching. 

‘No, love. Never.’ 

Draco sags against the granite countertop and doesn’t resist when Harry cups his face in his hands. 

‘I’m sorry I asked,’ he says, quietly. ‘It’s not that I don’t trust you but…” 

‘I know,’ Harry says, stroking his jaw with his thumb. ‘I know.’ 

When Draco looks back at him, there’s something so pained in his expression that Harry feels his heart break. 

‘I don’t want to feel this way about you,’ he whispers, his eyes shining. ‘About us.’ 

‘I know,’ Harry says, again, resting his forehead against Draco’s. 

‘I just want you back.’ This time, Draco’s voice breaks over the words and a lone tear slides down his cheek. 

Instead of saying anything at all, Harry pulls his partner against his chest. The angle is awkward because it isn’t exactly a hug and Draco is taller than Harry is, but then Draco shifts slightly to rest his forehead on Harry’s shoulder. They stay like that for a while, revelling in a rare moment of proximity and intimacy. 

‘I’ll make it up to you,’ Harry murmurs against the shell of Draco’s ear. ‘I promise, love. I’ll make all of this up to you.’ 

Draco laughs and though it is a beautiful sound, the note of disbelief in it is enough to set Harry’s resolve in stone.

– 

During the next week Harry spends his afternoons at his desk, hesitating before every swish of his wand that sends some files flying into a pile marked, ‘To be delegated’. There’s another, significantly smaller pile that says, ‘For the Head Auror’ and only case files that are top priority, national security or high risk are in it alongside all communication with the Minister. 

He resolutely does not step outside the office because he knows the moment he sees the younger Aurors rushing around with boundless energy and enthusiasm, his own resolve will crumble to nothing.

His secretary steps in from time to time, pointing a long, manicured finger at the ‘To be delegated’ pile and says in an imperious tone, ‘That needs to be higher.’ 

Harry smiles in exasperation– he knows she wants to boss around the others in the department by actually giving them something to do, assuming some power as the bloody Head Auror’s secretary and when he finds some particularly boring reports that has traditionally been the Head’s duty to fill out or look through, he relegates it to the pile to be given away simply to give her a laugh. 

When he’s finally done, his office almost looks empty, his desk’s surface can finally be seen and Jemima looks positively ecstatic at the prospect of handing out files to surly Aurors who want to cast spells and not record their consequences. 

He fills in his request for a fortnight’s holiday, hands it over to Jemima who goes through it and looks up, surprise evident on her face. 

‘Tell Terry to hold down the fort for me, will you?’ He tells her. ‘Deputy Head and he still acts like he hasn’t stepped out of the bullpen.’ 

‘That’s because he hasn’t,’ Jemima snorts and then smiles. ‘Have a good time, boss. You need a break.’ 

When the Floo in his office turns green,he steps into the flames that will take him home, thinking only of Draco. 

– 

‘You planned a holiday?’ Draco asks, between bites of lasagna, staring suspiciously at Harry. 

Harry nods, shoving a forkful into his mouth and spilling some of the sauce on his chin. 

‘Ugh, Merlin, Potter, six years with me and I still haven’t taught you how to eat, have I?’ Draco says, turning his nose up at the ridiculous sight Harry surely makes. ‘But pray tell, where is the holiday and when are we going?’ 

‘There’s a cabin I have up in Scotland. Quite close to Hogwarts, actually. Lots of fresh air, pine trees and chirping birds- I think you’ll like it.’ 

‘You have a cabin I didn’t know about?’ Draco asks, incredulous. 

‘Never thought to tell you,’ Harry shrugs. ‘Old Black property. Only time I went there was when I was looking through all the property left to me in my inheritance and trying to weed out all the dark curses and jinxes.’ 

‘How is that safe?’ Draco asks, alarmed. ‘How do you know there isn’t any of those lying around that you missed?’ 

‘I went with Bill,’ Harry says and immediately Draco looks reassured. In the years that Draco and Harry have been together, the Weasley sibling Draco gets along best with is Bill. They talk for ages about curses and potions and magical theory, all of which almost everyone except for Hermione finds as dull as a rusty knife. Draco trusts Bill’s knowledge and opinion on these things. 

‘You still didn’t tell me when,’ Draco reminds him. 

‘About that,’ Harry begins and hesitates. Draco’s eyes narrow. ‘I might have made arrangements for tomorrow.’ 

‘Tomorrow,’ says Draco, in a flat, low, dangerous voice. 

Harry nods, sheepishly. 

‘Do you think I don’t have a job, Potter?’ Draco asks, eyes glittering. 

‘I might have taken the liberty to send them an owl stating you will be taking a leave of absence for a fortnight.’ 

Draco’s eyes widen. 

‘Potter, you giant wanker, I have to pack!’ 

– 

The cabin is a small wooden structure in the midst of a forest and surprisingly unostentatious given that it is Black family property. 

Harry knows Draco loves it from the moment they step into the clearing when Draco’s mouth falls open at the beauty of the little house covered in creeping tendrils of flowering ivy. There are butterflies here and they sit on everything, including Draco’s nose which both startles and delights him. Harry’s heart clenches at the open joy on Draco’s face. 

‘I have to say,’ Draco drawls, when they finally step inside, ‘you know how to apologise.’ 

Harry smiles. 

‘I’d like to think of this more as an early anniversary present than an apology.’ 

Draco’s breath catches. When Harry turns to look at him, he finds the grey eyes fixed on him, a strange uncertainty in them.

‘Something wrong?’ Harry asks, worry creeping into his tone. 

Draco shakes his head and swallows before looking away. ‘I just thought…’ he mutters quietly, ‘that this year you wouldn’t remember.’ 

With a small sigh, Harry holds out a hand which Draco takes in his own, gripping a little too tight. Harry pulls him closer and Draco follows, without hesitation.

‘How could I forget?’ Harry asks, looking into Draco’s eyes, which flutter shut when Harry’s breath ghosts over his mouth. 

Harry leans in closer and their lips meet in a sweet, soft kiss that feels like coming home and Draco’s mouth opens under his like the petals of a rose in bloom. 

– 

Draco is exquisite in bed. 

Grace comes to him quite naturally even when it eludes Harry completely. In fact the only time Harry feels remotely acquainted with grace is when he’s flying. But Draco’s fluidity, flexibility and blatant wantonness in bed lends him a certain elegance that Harry is mesmerised by. 

Even now, when the flush of exertion extends down to his abdomen, his hair mussed, his mouth open in ecstasy as he rides Harry’s cock, Draco looks ethereal. 

Harry groans when Draco shifts his angle slightly and reaches up to grip the pale hips harder. Draco’s skin feels like silk and Harry realises that he could probably spend an eternity just touching him and he wouldn’t feel the need for much else. 

‘Fuck, Harry, you feel so fucking good,’ Draco whispers, his lips tilting up in an involuntary smile. ‘You always feel so bloody good in me.’ 

Harry lifts his hips in response to those words and Draco’s ensuing thrust. Draco screams and Harry pulls him down frantically by the shoulders to kiss him stupid. 

Draco’s lips are swollen and heavy from all the kissing they’ve done today and the blowjob he gave Harry earlier where Harry lost control and gripped his neck and fucked his mouth. Draco had moaned through the whole thing, unbuttoning his own pants to slip a hand in to relieve the pressure on his own cock. It had been wild and hot and heavy the way it hasn’t been since they were twenty six and rutting themselves dry in a night club. 

‘I want you to come on my face,’ Harry tells Draco, gripping his rapidly reddening cock by the base. ‘I want to feel your eyes on me and your hands on my chest and your come on my skin.’ 

Draco shudders and his cock thickens in Harry’s hand. 

‘I want,’ says Harry, pushing his voice an octave lower, ‘to taste you on my lips, in my mouth. I want to feel you against my cheek.’ 

‘Fuck, Harry,’ Draco whimpers and his grey irises are engulfed in black. 

Harry smiles and lets go of Draco’s cock, only to swirl his finger around the slit that is now leaking precome on Harry’s stomach. Harry thrusts up again and Draco cries out, driving his nails into Harry’s hips. 

‘I’m so fucking close,’ he murmurs, softly. ‘So close, it hurts.’ 

‘I love you,’ Harry whispers, his hand gently stroking Draco’s shaft in long strokes. He adds a little twist to the end that makes Draco clench around his dick and Harry doesn’t know how much longer he can stave off his own orgasm. ‘I love you so much.’ 

Draco’s eyes fly open and he looks at Harry with a sort of desperate longing as he says, ‘I know. I know. I’m so close, Harry, please.’ 

Harry quickens his strokes and one of Draco’s hands leaves Harry’s hips and joins his hand around Draco’s cock. Before he realises it, Draco’s angling his cock towards Harry’s face and with a scream he’s coming, spurting all over Harry’s chest and up to his mouth. 

Draco almost slumps over but Harry still hasn’t come so he keeps his eyes fixed on Draco and swipes his tongue over his lips, tasting the salty bitterness there. Deliberately he thrusts up, barely moving, only shifting gently deep inside him and Draco closes his eyes and sobs. 

Draco raises a hand to his hair and tries to keep it out of his sweaty face as his over sensitised channel continues to clench and undulate against Harry’s dick. It’s a few moments of this and Harry is coming, deep inside Draco and Draco is crying and sobbing and desperately trying to not keen and fall over from the pleasure he feels cresting though his dick remains soft. 

He pulls Draco down again, into a messy, filthy kiss that has Draco moaning at the taste of himself in Harry’s mouth. His hands come up to the sweaty dark hair and soon enough he’s tugging at the strands which makes Harry arch his back slightly, causing his dick to shift inside Draco. They both cry out at the feeling into each other’s mouths, swallowing the sounds hungrily. 

When they break apart, Draco looks positively debauched. 

With trembling legs, Draco raises himself off Harry’s cock with a wince and the wet squelching sound it makes when the ring of muscle finally pops free makes Draco cringe. 

‘Cast a cleaning charm, will you?’ Draco asks, his voice hoarse from screaming, crying and loud, wanton moaning. 

Harry smiles up at him. 

‘I have a better idea.’ 

Draco barely has time to process Harry’s words before he’s lying on the bed on his stomach, gripping at the sheets as Harry presses quick kisses along his spine, to his tailbone, lower, lower, lower. 

– 

‘Harry!’ comes the voice from the next room a couple of days later and Harry jumps out of bed at the shrill note he hears in Draco’s tone, fearing the worst. 

He charges in, wand aloft, a number of spells coursing through his mind. 

‘Draco? What’s going o– oh.’ 

Draco’s holding up a length of hemp rope in his hands, one of the lower kitchen cabinets lying open. Clearly he’d been exploring and he’d come across something that couldn’t quite be… explained. 

‘What is this?’ Draco asks, his voice strange and high. 

‘Rope,’ Harry says but the word comes out strangled and breathy so he clears his throat and tries again. ‘That’s, um, rope.’ 

‘This,’ says Draco, letting one end of the coil drop from his hand so the whole thing unravels across the floor, ‘is a lot of fucking rope.’ 

‘It’s the Black family cabin,’ Harry says with a weak smile. ‘What do you expect?’ 

Draco narrows his eyes. ‘Black family cabin you say? The one you cleaned out with Bill?’ 

‘Must have missed a corner,’ Harry says and his voice comes out quieter than he intends.. 

Draco looks unimpressed and unconvinced. ‘There’s something you’re not telling me, Potter.’ 

Harry buries his face in his hands. He looks up only when he feels a light touch on his shoulder and finds himself staring into concerned and slightly amused grey eyes. 

‘You know you can tell me anything, right, Harry?’ 

Harry feels the heat in his face when he nods. 

‘So is there something you’d like to tell me?’ 

Harry looks away and then murmurs in a shaky voice, ‘It was a while ago, really. Nothing to worry about now.’ 

‘Explain anyway,’ Draco says, his curiosity piqued. 

Harry can feel the heat rise. ‘I wanted to try something, once. About three years ago. I bought it from a shop that… sold those kinds of things and I brought it here. I thought I’d bring you here too but then it just, um, never happened.’ 

‘Never happened?’ Draco asks, and his voice is low. When Harry turns to look at him, his eyes are dark. 

‘I could never, um, ask you for it. So I left it here and thought I’d forget about it.’ He sighs. ‘It’s not like our sex life was ever missing anything so I, um, didn’t even think about it all that much,’ he hastens to clarify. 

When Draco speaks, his voice is raspy. ‘I do think it might have missed something.’ He runs a hand up the side of Harry’s bare arm and asks in a low undertone, ‘Do you think you might still be… interested?’ 

Harry shudders. He brings his hands up to his face again and presses the heels of his palms against his eyes. 

‘Yes,’ he whispers. 

He misses the almost feral smile Draco sends his way. 

– 

‘I think we need to come up with a safe word before we do this,’ Draco says, mouthing at the sweat slicked skin of Harry’s shoulder. 

Harry’s knowledge of bondage is limited but during one particularly scarring conversation with Hermione, it had been explained what a safe word was. 

He can barely think under the onslaught of Draco’s teasing yet relentless ministrations but eventually comes up with a breathless ‘Auror.’ 

‘Are you sure you want this?’ Draco asks, stroking long fingers gently along the exposed skin of Harry’s throat, his nails points of pressure and sensation sending shivers down Harry’s spine. 

‘Yes,’ Harry groans, letting his head fall back against Draco’s chest, allowing him better access to the tender juncture of his neck and collarbone. 

‘Alright,’ Draco murmurs, stilling his movements. ‘Just know that it’s okay to withdraw consent at any point. Use the safe word if you need to and everything stops.’ 

Harry nods, dazed. 

Draco gets off the bed and walks around to stand at the foot of it. Harry remains sitting, feeling slightly self conscious as Draco’s gaze roves hungrily over his body. Draco’s still wearing pants and Harry’s stark naked on the bed and though his body isn’t anything Draco hasn’t seen before, the knowledge of what’s to come makes him want to cover himself up childishly. 

Before he can follow through with that plan, Draco’s voice, rough with desire washes over him. 

‘Lie back, Harry,’ Draco says, and it isn’t a request, isn’t something he’s asking for. It’s a command and Harry finds his body complying even before his brain has fully processed the command. 

He lies back, the sheets cool against his overheated body, still staring up at Draco who looks like all his dreams are coming true. Harry swallows. 

‘That’s a good boy,’ Draco murmurs and the words seep into him like warmth on a cold winter morning, comforting him, cocooning him and making him impossibly harder. 

Draco walks around the edge of the bed and stares down at Harry for a second before summoning a length of rope into his hands. When he reaches down to take one of Harry’s wrists in his own, the question is clear in his eyes. 

Are you sure? 

Swallowing once more, Harry nods and Draco’s breath puffs over the thin skin of his wrist, making his toes clench with the arousal that simple feeling brings. 

The rope goes around his wrist, secure, though not uncomfortable and very soon Harry finds his right hand bound to the headboard. He tests the bond by tugging on it and it barely gives. From years of wandless, wordless magic usage on the field, Harry knows he could snap out of the ropes with just a little concentration but through the pleasant fog enveloping his mind, he’s surprised and delighted by how little he wants to. 

His other wrist is soon secured and Harry finds his arms stretched out over his head, unmoving, secured to the sturdy teak of the headboard. 

‘Does it chafe?’ Draco asks. 

Harry shakes his head. ‘I can feel it, but it doesn’t hurt.’ 

‘Good.’

In another couple of minutes, his ankles are bound to handles at the foot of the bed that Draco must have conjured because Harry’s fairly sure they weren’t there before. He’s spread eagled and vulnerable on the bed with barely any capability to move. 

He looks up at Draco, whose look of concentration has morphed into a look of open, blatant desire and Harry blushes under the scrutiny. 

His cock is hard and leaking precome on his stomach as he arches slightly, trying to relieve the unbearable pressure building up within him. 

Draco exhales harshly.. 

With catlike grace he climbs onto the bed, and when he smirks, Harry groans. 

Draco places his knees on either side of Harry’s hips, effectively holding him down without touching him. 

‘I’ve got you where I want you,’ Draco says, and there’s an undercurrent in his words that makes Harry’s skin tingle. 

‘You have for the past six years,’ Harry tells him, teasingly. ‘Or so I thought.’ 

‘Cheeky, Potter,’ he murmurs, one hand coming up to rest against Harry’s jaw. ‘I like cheeky.’ 

He leans forward and places a chaste, dry kiss to Harry’s lips. When he pulls away, Harry whines at the dissatisfying loss of contact and Draco huffs an amused laugh. 

‘Patience,’ he chides. 

‘Never had any,’ Harry gasps, as Draco brings his mouth back down to suckle at Harry’s already bruised and tender collarbone. ‘Thought you knew.’ 

Draco hums softly as he moves lower, down Harry’s chest. He raises a hand and pinches one of Harry’s nipples, which leaves him arching and moaning beneath Draco. When Harry’s eyes open, he sees Draco smirking slightly. 

He has only a moment to comprehend what that means before Draco’s lowering his mouth back onto Harry’s nipple, latching on and sucking. This isn’t something he usually lets Draco do, because the sensory onslaught can be too much sometimes and he’s always afraid he’s going to come in his pants but this time, Draco isn’t stopping and Harry’s hands are bound to the rattling headboard. 

‘Fuck!’ He screams as Draco uses a hint of teeth. Draco hums, creating vibrations that course through Harry’s entire body and pool in his stomach, building up to the orgasm Harry can feel coming. 

He’s ready to cry when Draco pulls off and does the same to his other nipple, leaving Harry writhing on the bed with nowhere to go and everything to feel. 

‘You never let me do this,’ Draco says when he finally pulls off. He brings his hands to Harry’s nipples, gently flicking them, scraping his nails against them and twisting them as Harry almost sobs. 

‘I always– fuck, fuck, Draco, fuck– want it a little, oh fuck yes, too much,’ Harry manages. 

He knows that the second Draco touches his dick, he’s going to explode and maybe that’s why Draco completely ignores it in favour of moving down his abdomen, lower and lower, until he reaches Harry’s bollocks, heavy and swollen. 

‘What do we do about these?’ Draco asks, and Harry flushes red and hot from embarrassment and arousal. He wants to reach out, run his hands through Draco’s hair, pull that gorgeous mouth onto his cock and fuck it raw but Draco’s in control now and despite the squirming impatience, there’s something about this total relinquishing of his autonomy that feels comfortable. 

There’s a hot, wide, wet tongue swiping over the sensitive skin of his balls and Harry actually begins to cry, his tears running down the sides of his cheeks, falling onto the cotton sheets below. Draco doesn’t seem to care as he flicks at Harry’s balls with his tongue and then proceeds to press open mouthed kisses all over them. 

‘Draco, please,’ Harry begs, eventually. ‘Please, baby, give me something.’ 

‘That’s rather vague, don’t you think?’ Draco asks, pulling off and Harry wants to cry at the complete loss of contact. 

‘Please, Draco, I c-can’t.’ 

‘Please, what?’ 

Harry shakes his head. He’s too far gone to know what he wants or care what Draco gives, as long as it relieves some of the pressure that’s pressing against his abdomen, threatening to explode. 

‘Then I give you what I want,’ Draco says and Harry cries in earnest this time, hearing the teasing lilt in Draco’s voice. 

The warm, wet heat moves further down, to his thighs and Draco knows how much Harry likes being bitten and touched there, but now it only serves to amp up Harry’s painful arousal even higher as Draco sinks his teeth gently into the soft skin of Harry’s inner thigh. He pulls off and soothes it with his tongue and if Harry had his hands free, he would have probably strangled Draco by now for doing this to him, but fucking Salazar, it feels so good. 

‘I’d put something in you, but I don’t have lube,’ says Draco and Harry knows something is coming by the amused way in which Draco utters those words. ‘I guess I have to… find another way, don’t I?’ 

This time, Harry screams himself hoarse as Draco’s tongue traces a broad swipe down his balls to his hole, which makes Harry realise how Draco had tied him– to keep him exposed, open. 

Draco nips at his rim gently and Harry knows that when this finally ends, he will have gone completely insane from the pleasure and the pain. Next thing he knows Draco is sealing his mouth around his soft pucker and sucking, like the motherfucking angel he is, turning his tongue into a pointed end and stabbing it gently into him, stroking his inner walls with saliva and a solid warmth. 

Harry’s barely cognisant of the tears covering his face and the sounds he’s making are a distant litany of nonsense. All he’s aware of are Draco’s fingers holding on with bruising force to his hips, and his mouth performing wonders everywhere on Harry’s body. 

In these years, Draco has learned Harry’s body like an instrument; he knows exactly how to play every nerve like a chord and every sensitive spot like a harmony. But never, in six years of their relationship has Harry relinquished his control to this extent. 

Eventually, Draco probably takes mercy on Harry who is now arching and spasming on the bed almost continuously. With one finger slipping into his hole fairly easily, he doesn’t bother teasing and just swallows Harry’s dick down as far as it goes from the angle at which he’s sitting. 

Harry howls.

With nothing holding his hips down, he bucks and arches into Draco’s mouth and the finger wetly gliding in his hole strokes against his prostate and the world explodes in white and then fades to black as Harry’s orgasm bursts out of him. 

He collapses on the bed, exhausted, his wrists hurting from all the tugging and pulling he’s done, his toes cramping from the clench they had been forced into, his body aching from the continuous exhausting movement. 

He can barely open his eyes, but he feels Draco pulls off and gently kiss his thigh before spelling the bonds off. 

His hands fall like dead weights to the bed, but he still brings them to rub his aching, bruised wrists. 

‘Wait here,’ he hears Draco say and wants to snort a reply about how he can’t exactly go anywhere in the state he’s in, but his mouth isn’t cooperating. 

After a minute, he feels the bed dip beside him and Draco is rubbing something that smells nice and feels like heaven into the bruise he knows is forming. 

‘Mm,’ Harry mumbles. ’S’nice.’ 

‘This gel?’ Draco asks, amused. 

Harry smiles. ‘Everything. You.’ 

He hears the surprised huff of laugh as Draco switches to his other wrist. 

‘Something you’d like to do again, then?’ 

‘Are you kidding?’ Harry asks, opening one eye with effort. Draco is looking down at him uncertainly. ‘I’m taking a weekend off every month just to come here with you.’ 

‘Merlin, Potter, that’s a bit much, don’t you think?’ Draco asks, the dry amusement in his voice warming Harry’s heart. ‘I have a better plan.’ 

‘Oh yeah?’ 

‘Mmhm. We just take the ropes home.’ 

Before Harry drifts off into peaceful sleep, he thinks that’s one of Draco’s best plans to date.


End file.
